


Marathon

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [398]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:39:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: tumblr anon requested: all five bros doing a Star wars marathon?





	

They all had their favourites.

Every year, on Christmas Eve, they watched them in chronological order, Rogue One to Return of the Jedi.  And every year it was the same.

Scott was a purist; the year Gordon found him a copy of the original version of New Hope was the year they all discovered that Scott could actually squeal with joy.  His was the only version they were allowed to watch in his presence, and every year, Scott would say with satisfaction as the blaster sound effect rang out “see, Han shot first.”

Virgil was an Obi-Wan fan. He’d mouth along to the words, waving his hand at whichever brother was closest.  “These are not the Droids you are looking for.”  That brother had to reply “These are not the Droids we are looking for, move along,” on pain of pain delivered at the hands of the next-nearest sibling.

Alan made _pew-pew_  noises, rocking in his seat in time with the maneuvers of the X-wings making the run on the Death Star, but no-one teased him for it.

Gordon cried at the end of Rogue One, every time, and no-one ever said a word.

John could do a passable Wookie noise.  The first time Kayo had heard it, she’d burst out laughing, and John had continued to crow in Wookese at her as they’d all pounced and tickled her, just to hear her laugh some more.

By the time they got to  _Return of the Jedi,_ they were huddled together on the floor amid spilled blankets and spilled popcorn, heads of the younger ones resting on the shoulders of their elders.  On-screen, as Luke put the flame to his father’s pyre, there were more than a few quiet sniffs as they all pressed into each other as Christmas morning dawned across the Pacific.


End file.
